


The Way of the Warrior-Poet

by Mari_the_Mermaid



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: All the way to Shu Jing, Also Ursa gets a cool backstory, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But don't worry he'll work through it, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Piandao remembers why he never had children, Sokka's not feeling very worthy right now, Zuko just wants to be left alone with his swordmaster grandpa but Sokka has different ideas, Zuko will go to great lengths to hide from his problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28836027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_the_Mermaid/pseuds/Mari_the_Mermaid
Summary: For his crimes against the Fire Nation, Prince Iroh was sentenced to death. Of course, Zuko couldn't let that stand, and so his faceoff against the Fire Lord happened sooner than expected. Zuko escaped with a charge of high treason to his name and a reward on his head. Like mother like son, Zuko decided to disappear. With a new face, a new name, and an old dream, Zuko knocked on Master Piandao's door.Little did he know that a certain Water Tribe warrior, weighed down with a promise to his father and a slowly-deteriorating self-esteem, was not too far behind.In hindsight, considering the look of sheer horror on Zuko's face when he saw Sokka standing next to Piandao, "childhood friends" was not the story Sokka should have gone with.
Relationships: Fat & Piandao (Avatar), Piandao & Sokka (Avatar), Piandao & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 134





	The Way of the Warrior-Poet

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, lovely readers! This is my first multichapter fanfic. I want to thank my IRL friend, who has asked to be referred to as "The Star of the Lake," for her help with this story. 
> 
> If you like this fic, follow me on tumblr @sifu-sugarqueen.

At six years old, Prince Zuko was a master at hiding.

Piandao learned that fact the hard way by suffering through games of hide and explode. Princess Azula was great at exploding, and so Prince Zuko became great at not being found. He ended up in all the nooks and crannies of the castle—he’d climb the bookshelves or bury himself under a pile of Fat’s dirty clothes. Once, he burst in while Piandao was working on a sword and made for the forge like he was planning to jump into the fire.

Prince Zuko was a terrible headache.

So Piandao knew, when the carriage arrived to take the royal family back to Caldera city and the Prince was nowhere to be found, what pain was to come. He and Ursa had spent the whole morning searching the castle grounds before Piandao spotted little feet peeking out from under the curtains in the main hall.

Piandao sighed and pulled back the curtains, revealing the little monster. The Prince squeezed his eyes shut, as if to play dead. He wasn’t very smart when he was desperate.

“There you are,” he said. “Your mother’s been looking everywhere for you.”

The Prince fell forward, and wrapped his arms around Piandao’s legs.

“Pretend you didn’t see, and I promise I’ll practice my forms all day long.”

“You have to go home.”

Prince Zuko’s voice lowered to a soft whisper. “I don’t want to.”

Piandao knew what it was like, to not want to go home. He might as well have been talking to himself when he crouched down to the Prince’s height, and met him eye to eye. “You can’t hide forever, Prince Zuko.”

And Zuko, the little monster-headache that he was, lifted his chin to the sky. “I can try.”

* * *

Azula was staring at him. He could tell, despite the fact that his eyes were trained on the crowd gathering in front of them, because her gaze burned as hot as her flames. But he didn’t dare turn his head. Ozai could make his grand entrance at any moment.

It took all of Zuko’s control just to be standing at the top of the palace steps now—straight spined, arms at his sides, chin pointed up towards the sky—frozen in the perfect picture of Fire Prince etiquette he knew the consequences of forgetting. He was sure if he moved, he would fall apart. Of course, Azula wanted nothing more.

“Are you going to look away?” she whispered.

Zuko saw her from the corner of his eyes. She stood next to him in a similar position, although it looked more natural on her.

He ignored her, and instead searched for Mai in the crowd. She was standing beside Ty Lee in the front row, looking bored. When she noticed him staring, she narrowed her eyes and shook her head. Zuko had to stifle a laugh. (Mai spent last night complaining about how executions were a waste of time, and how it would make much more sense to get them over with quickly. She’d been trying to get him to laugh, he figured. And maybe forget, for a moment, who was being executed.)

Azula repeated her question again, drawing out each word. “Are you going to look away?”

“What’s it matter to you?” Zuko snapped.

“I wouldn’t want anyone to think my dear brother sympathizes with a traitor.”

She wrinkled her nose, as if the word had a foul smell. Zuko resisted the urge to glare at her, and instead returned to his script. (Not metaphorically. He had written one titled _Honor Returned: The Rise of the Un-banished Prince,_ and memorized every line. Some people were effortlessly regal. Others had to work with the few useless talents they had.)

“The disgraced Prince Iroh knew the consequences of treason when he committed it.”

Azula raised a brow.

Zuko had not, in fact, known that he was leading Uncle to his funeral pyre when he returned home with his sister. Even Azula expected imprisonment for life. But Father said that Iroh was too dangerous to be kept alive. Ozai didn’t want his brother dead, but rulers carry the burden of making difficult choices to keep their people safe. Zuko pretended not to see the satisfied smile Father wore on his face when he broke the news to Uncle and pointedly did not look to see Uncle’s reaction.

Zuko didn’t speak up for his Uncle, although every bone in his body had screamed at him to take Uncle and run. Zuko stayed strong, and Ozai told Zuko that he was proud of him. The praise was suffocating.

And now, it was time for Zuko’s most dreaded scene: the day of Uncle’s execution.

“You don’t have to pretend to be strong in front of me,” Azula said. “You’ve never convinced me before. I know what you’re made of.”

Before Zuko could respond to the insult, the sound of a gong echoed through the air. The crowd of nobles and military officials quieted in an instant, straightening and bowing as one. Zuko lowered his head as Ozai stepped out of the palace.

Zuko felt Azula stiffen beside him.

He’d been wanting to ask how she felt in Father’s presence. Even when Ozai wasn’t standing on the dais, framed by a wall of fire, Zuko felt like he was talking to a divine entity. Now, dressed in his Firelord robes and with his headpiece glowing in the light of the sun, Ozai could have been one. Everything about him was sharp and cutting, from his shoulder piece to fine lines of his face to his words. Kneeling was a reflex when he was near. (Fear was too, but Zuko figured that would change in time.)

Ozai stopped in the center of the platform.

“My subjects, we are here today because Prince Iroh has been charged with treason for aiding the Avatar’s escape from Ba Sing Se and attempting to manipulate—” Ozai gestured at him, and their eyes met for one terrifying moment before Ozai turned back to the audience. “our loyal Prince Zuko into joining him.”

Zuko’s eyes flickered across the plaza to where Iroh was being brought out. Two guards carried him by the arms, and dropped him onto his knees in the center of the courtyard fifteen feet away from the palace steps. Iroh was dressed in fine white robes, as if he was here to attend his own funeral. His arms and legs were chained together. Imperial firebenders surrounded him on all sides, fists pointed towards him.

There was no way out, yet Iroh squared his shoulders and raised his chin high.

Despite his desperate need to do so, Zuko couldn’t tear his eyes away from Iroh. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck.

 _Speak up,_ a traitorous voice pleaded in Zuko’s head. _You can’t let Uncle die._

Zuko couldn’t let the 41 division die either. He’d learned to ignore the voices in his head a long time ago. The voices that told him it was wrong to hunt a twelve year old boy, to listen to his uncle, to help the water tribe girl at Ba Sing Se. The one that told him his father would never love him.

He shoved them all down before. He could keep shoving them down for the rest of his life. Zuko rooted his feet into the ground, grinding his heels into the marble just to keep them in place.

Ozai’s voice became somber. “Once the favorite of our father Azulon, an esteemed general, the hero who slayed the last dragon…” He said, with a level of disgust akin to Azula’s, “Oh, how far the Prince has fallen.”

Ozai descended the palace steps, and the people at the front of the crowd moved like grass in the wind, putting the appropriate distance between them and their Fire Lord. “For his crimes against the Fire Nation, Iroh is sentenced to death.”

Ozai walked towards Iroh slowly, deliberately, fully aware that the whole world ran on his clock. Iroh remained on the ground, chin raised, accepting his fate.

Suddenly, Zuko couldn’t breathe. The last three years flashed in his eyes. Three years of tea, one-sided arguments, unhelpful proverbs. Music nights, firebending practice, Ba Sing Se. Uncle tending to Zuko’s wounds. Uncle fixing Zuko’s hair for his date with Jin. Uncle saying, _I think of you as my own._ Zuko saying _ _ _I know, Uncle. We’ll meet again.___

If Zuko didn’t move, they would never meet again. But Zuko wasn’t supposed to move, and he wouldn’t survive if he humiliated Father again, but Uncle had to. He needed to get up, he needed to run—

But he couldn’t. Uncle was trapped. Uncle was going to die.

“Any last words, brother?” Ozai asked, moving into a firebending position.

Uncle stayed silent. Zuko couldn’t. He started running.

“Well, then.” Ozai smiled, and held out two fingers on either hand.

“Stop!” Zuko yelled. And then his feet left the palace steps, jets of fire streaming from his heels and his clenched fists, propelling him towards Ozai and Iroh. Everyone and everything else blurred as he flew. Distantly, Zuko heard shouts and gasps coming from the crowd, but only saw the horror on Uncle’s face, the murderous glare on Father’s. He landed between them and fell into a kowtow before Ozai.

“It would be a mistake to kill Prince Iroh,” he said.

Zuko heard Iroh’s voice for the first time in weeks. “It’s okay, Prince Zuko. Man lives freely only by his readiness to die.”

“You missed your turn to spew platitudes, brother,” Ozai sneered. “Rise and explain yourself, Prince Zuko. You must have a good reason to be making an objection in the middle of the execution.”

Zuko rose, and nearly trembled when he caught his father’s gaze. When was the last time they stood like this, eye to eye? Ozai’s eyebrows were drawn together, his piercing eyes alight. He looked at Zuko like he wanted to scorch him.

Zuko swallowed and said, “He might have information that could be useful to us. Perhaps Iroh aided other Fire Nation enemies before the Avatar.”

Ozai’s expression remained unchanged. Zuko panicked and mentally flipped through the pages of his self-insert play. “In addition, you’re the most powerful firebender in the world, and with Azula at your side, Iroh poses no serious threat to your power.”

Now Ozai bared his teeth like one of the dragons on Fire Nation door knockers, and Zuko wasn’t sure why that made it worse.

“Arguably, life in prison is worse than death. So if you really want Iroh to suffer—”

“Iroh’s life will not be spared.” Ozai said it plainly and pointedly, as if it were any other decision that was already made and he now had to honor.

Only one word came to mind and Zuko was a complete and absolute fool for trying it. It had never worked before, but there was nothing else to say. Uncle was going to die, Ozai was dead-set on killing him, and there was nothing Zuko could do to change that. He felt like a child, begging his Father to play with him, to tell him where his Mother was, to not hurt him.

“Please,” Zuko said.

“Enough!” Ozai bellowed, and the flames in the torches lining the plaza shot up with his voice. The look on his face was worse than anger, worse than disgust, worse than disappointment.

“When I learned you killed the Avatar, I thought you’d finally grown into your role as crown prince. But you’ve disrespected me once again. There will be no more chances.”

He walked behind Zuko and plucked the headpiece from his hair, taking the band with him. The topknot came apart and Zuko’s hair fell around his face. Ozai ran his fingers over the edge of the headpiece. “Since the moment you were born, I knew you would be a failure. Only, I couldn’t decide whether you’d grow to be a coward or a fool. I guess it’s time to find out.”

Ozai brought his hands together in front of him, fingertips crackling with lightning, and aimed at Iroh—at _Zuko_ , who was still standing between Father and Uncle, and—

And Zuko understood. He could stay where he was and take the hit for his Uncle, or he could duck out of the way. He could live or die, and Ozai didn’t care which. He was nothing to his father.

“Zuko, go!” Uncle screamed, voice hoarse. But when did Zuko ever listen?

Ozai smiled.

As his vision was blinding with burning hot white, his arms floated up in the position Uncle taught him. The impact blew him back. It felt like swimming in the sun. Every inch of his skin burned. His blood boiled. But Zuko had control. He guided the current from one arm to the other, and pointed his fingers ahead.

At Father, who tried to kill him twice.

At Father, who tried to kill Uncle.

At Father, who hated him.

At Father, who he hated back.

Zuko didn’t see where the lightning hit, but Ozai was thrown back into the wall of the palace, and so he figured he had time to run.

The plaza descended into chaos. The air filled with screams and shouts and cries. A swarm of royal guards ran to Ozai’s side. Azula was nowhere to be seen.

The Imperial firebenders that had been guarding Uncle were now closing in on him, all their fists pointed towards Zuko. Because he was a traitor now.

Zuko fell to the floor and sweeped his leg around him, sending a wall of fire out towards the guards. He tore through their formation and raced towards Uncle, who looked like he had suffered a heart attack.

“Zuko, you impulsive fool—” he started, and of course he was going to try and lecture Zuko now because Uncle never had a healthy sense of urgency.

“The chains, Uncle!”

Iroh lowered himself to the floor and held his arms out. Zuko brought his heel down on the chains and they broke in half. He moved behind Iroh to repeat the moves for the chains on his legs, and then hauled him to his feet.

Just as Iroh gained his balance, a whip of fire nearly knocked him down again.

“They’re trying to escape!”

Twenty, no thirty guards started running their way. Zuko spotted a pathway between the buildings, grabbed Iroh’s hand, and bolted. Iroh struggled to keep with Zuko’s pace, and his breath was ragged and heavy.

Zuko slowed to keep Iroh in front of him and dealt with the guards catching up. He deflected a stream of fire blowing at his feet, returned a flame punched towards his chest, kicked a fireball at a guard trying to get to Iroh.

Uncle used to say that Zuko’s single-mindedness was one of his weaknesses, but now he was more grateful for it than anything. It let him forget that he was grossly outnumbered. It was why he didn’t feel the sting of the strikes he couldn’t block. Zuko saw his goal and nothing else. And his goal was to get Uncle out alive.

Suddenly, there was a hand wrapping around Zuko’s mouth. Another gripped his arm and pulled him into the bushes. The hands were Uncle’s, who was crouched down beside him. Iroh let go of him and then pointed to the pathway. Zuko looked through the shrubbery and noticed a manhole cover rising out of the perfectly paved street.

After the sound of footsteps and the _whoosh_ of fireballs faded into the distance, Iroh lifted the cover and jumped into the hole. As Zuko followed, holding his nose to spare himself from the smell of toilets and garbage, he thought about one thing: Fire Lord Ozai was right. He and his uncle, they’ve both fallen.

* * *

Except for the light peeking in from the manhole, the sewers were pitch black. The air was thick and foul, and it stuck to Zuko like a blanket of filth. The water, if you could call it that, reached up to Zuko’s knees. He would have to burn these clothes if he made it out alive. No, not if. When. Zuko and Iroh had survived pirates, drifted through the northern seas, trekked through half the earth kingdom with a price on their heads. They would survive this.

Zuko held his hand out in front of him and lit a flame in his palm. It was small and bright red and it flickered out as soon as it started. Iroh pretended not to notice, and a flame appeared in his own palm. It glowed yellow and grew as he exhaled.

Before, Iroh would have given Zuko a lecture.

“The greatest show of strength, nephew, is control,” Iroh said when he attempted to teach Zuko how to meditate on the ship. Zuko’s eye had not yet scarred and he was still jumping at his own flames, but he had been desperate to move forward with his lessons. “Anyone can blast fire at their enemies. It takes a powerful firebender to cradle their own fire in their hands, keeping it steady and still enough to light their path.”

(Zuko still wasn’t certain whether Iroh had been trying to placate him or he truly believed that being a human lamp was the sign of a firebending master. This was a common theme in their relationship.)

Now Iroh was quiet. The only sounds were their feet sloshing through the nasty sewer water.

Maybe Uncle hated him. It was his fault Uncle Iroh nearly died, and he almost let it happen—

The torch blinked out and on again. Iroh was leaning against the wall, catching his breath. Zuko caught up to him, and lifted Iroh’s arm over his shoulder. They kept walking.

“Thank you, Nephew.”

Zuko looked at him. The torch cast a shadow across his face. His expression was serious but neutral. Not smiling, not frowning. It was as if he was still making the decision on whether to hate Zuko or not.

“I don’t deserve a thank you,” Zuko said. “I did this to you.”

It was silent again. In addition to the sloshing, he noticed the sound of water leaking from the pipes. _Plip, plop. Plip, plop._

“Do you regret your actions in Ba Sing Se?” Iroh asked hesitantly.

“I do.”

“Because of more than what happened to me?”

Iroh searched his face, and Zuko wished he had the tiniest hint as to what he was looking for.

“For once, Uncle, tell me what you want from me! Say it and I’ll do it,” Zuko said. “You’re all I have left now.”

Iroh let out a resigned sigh and Zuko knew he gave the wrong answer. But instead of getting upset, Iroh smiled weakly. He made a grand gesture to the _everything_ around them, and Zuko was aggravated to see that even with the movement, the flame kept burning steadily in his palm.

“This stinks,” Iroh said.

His eyes were sad, but Zuko forced himself to ignore it. He could pretend forever, if it was with Uncle.

“This,” Zuko said, mimicking Uncle’s gesture, “is what your sandals smell like.”

“The worse the stench of your feet, the more you’ve walked in life. And the more you walk your path, the closer you will get to your destiny. And the—”

“You lost me, Uncle.”

* * *

When they resurfaced, Zuko half-expected Azula to be waiting by the manhole cover, ready to push him back down. She wasn’t.

“Huh,” Zuko said.

* * *

Azula wasn’t at the warehouse where the war balloons were kept either.

“ _Huh,_ ” Zuko said.

* * *

As Iroh blasted fire into the tank of the war balloon they stole, Zuko kept watch. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and goosebumps decorated every inch of his arms and legs. Every moment that whips of blue fire weren’t flung at Zuko’s head, he sank deeper and deeper into his paranoia.

“The anticipation of pain is often worse than the pain itself,” Iroh said.

“This is too easy.”

“Maybe the universe thinks we deserve something easy.” Iroh took Zuko’s hands and pulled him in front of the tank. “I’ll keep watch. You make some fire.”

Zuko complied, turning his focus on the flames.

The next time he looked away, they were flying over rooftops. Heads poked out of windows and people stopped in the middle of the street to gawk. But no one could reach up and drag them down. The farther up they got, the easier it was for Zuko to let himself believe, for the first time, that they were going to make it out alive. He smiled.

But the universe never liked Zuko’s smiles and always found a way to wipe them off his face.

A blast of blue fire barely missed Zuko’s head.

Below, hundreds of Fire Nation soldiers ran towards them, all poised to shoot Zuko and Iroh out of the sky. At the front and center of the army was Azula. Gone was the sadistic smile she always wore when she faced him. Her face was blank, expressionless. She looked at him like she didn’t know him.

“Fire!” Azula cried.

It was an explosion of yellow and orange and red. Streams of fire hit the basket, and the balloon tipped backwards, knocking Zuko to the back of the basket. He hit the metal head-on, and it felt like his brain bounced against his skull. A high-pitched ringing sound echoed in his ears. Zuko brought his hand up to the back of his hand. When he looked at it, his fingers were soaked in blood.

Iroh was holding on to the other edge of the basket with one arm and blocked bursts of fire from hitting the balloon with the other.

Zuko’s eyes drifted to the tank. He grabbed onto the rail and pulled himself to his feet. He wobbled to the tank, and started blasting fire into it with all he had. He felt the basket start tipping back to balance.

“Zuko—” There was something off about his voice, but Zuko’s head was pounding and he didn’t want to think about it.

“Don’t distract me, Uncle,” Zuko said. “We need to be higher. If we’re high enough, they can’t touch us.”

The air was hot, like he was standing in a crematorium. Sweat was running down his forehead. His arms ached and his bones screamed. But he kept his fire steady. They were so close.

“There’s too many of them, Zuko—”

“Not now!”

He was on the brink of collapse, but the edge of the Caldera was in his line of sight.

“There is only now!”

Zuko felt two hands on his shoulders, and then he was being ripped from the tank and turned towards Iroh.

Iroh looked desperate, and Zuko didn’t know why. Zuko only saw the tank. He needed to get back to the tank, but Uncle’s grip was too tight and he was too tired. “You’re going to leave and never come back, you hear me?”

Zuko nodded, and the movement made his head spin.

“Listen, Zuko,” Iroh repeated. “You’re more than the Fire Prince, more than your father’s son and my nephew. You’re going to find your own way.”

Zuko nodded again. “Let go of me, Uncle,” he muttered drowsily.

Iroh did. He looked at Zuko for a long while, eyes scanning over him, a small smile forming on his face. It was the kind of look Zuko’s mother gave him on his birthday. Zuko almost expected Uncle to say, _Look how big you’ve gotten, my little Fire Lily._

Instead, Iroh jumped.

Zuko snapped back to reality.

“Uncle!”

Zuko had never seen so much fire come out of one person. It shot from Uncle’s feet and hands and mouth as he fell towards the ground. The soldiers turned their attention from the war balloon to the Dragon of the West in all of his glory.

Zuko nearly launched himself off the air balloon, but he stopped himself short. There was no way Iroh was going to make it, even if Zuko joined him.

Iroh hit the ground and was absorbed into the storm cloud. He pushed a ring of fire out from him, knocking the nearest soldiers down. But more kept coming, and Iroh looked tired.

Zuko could jump and die with him, or he could leave like Uncle said.

Jumping would be the honorable thing to do…

But his hair was in his eyes instead of up in a topknot and Uncle had looked at him like he wanted Zuko to grow up.

He couldn’t see Uncle now. He’d disappeared into the mass of soldiers.

The air balloon started teetering. If Zuko watched any longer, he wasn’t going to make it over the edge. It was time to choose.

Zuko wanted to jump. He wanted to be holding Uncle’s hands as he was engulfed by the flames.

But Uncle was doing this for him. Uncle made him promise to leave.

Tears rolled down Zuko’s cheeks as he turned away. Zuko returned to the tank and focused on the fire until there was not a spark left in him.

* * *

The sun was midway through the sky when Zuko stirred awake. He brought his hand up to rub out the ache in his neck, mentally cursing himself for not finding a softer bed to sleep on.

He had landed in the mountains just before dawn and collapsed on the moss-covered rock as soon as his feet hit the ground. Which mountains, he wasn’t sure. He knew he was still in the Fire Nation and that he had to keep going until he wasn’t.

After that…

What happened after that was a question that Zuko preferred not to ask for the moment.

Zuko sat up and grimaced. He felt the numb tingling of burns all across his skin, and his arms were sore and heavy at his sides. His robes were singed, and he smelled like some horrible combination of excrement and burnt fabric. His boots were the worst part—damp and sticky, and there was definitely some human waste stuck to them.

Zuko kicked the boots off. He wanted to scream at Uncle, _There’s poop on my feet and I’ve never been further from my destiny_!

But he couldn’t, because Uncle wasn’t here. He was never going to get the chance because Uncle had jumped into the middle of an imperial army so that Zuko could escape. Because Zuko failed to protect him, because Zuko wasn’t even planning to try. Because Uncle was most likely dead, and it was his fault.

Zuko jumped to his feet. He pulled the shoulder piece up over his head and cast it aside. His body armor and arm braces joined the heap.

He’d only worn this ensemble twice: yesterday and the day Lo and Li announced his return. After three years of wishing for nothing but home, he barely lasted a week. Three years of trying to remember the way Father used to put his hand on Zuko’s shoulder while they walked down the beach. Three years of trying to forget the way he held that same hand to Zuko’s eye while his skin went up in flames, only for Father to try to burn him again.

Three years of trying to get his honor back only to lose it all over again. No, what Father wanted from him wasn’t honor. No, Zuko didn’t even know what honor was, not anymore. Maybe he never did.

Zuko needed to scream but there was no Uncle to scream at, and judging by the smell of factory fumes in the air, there was a city nearby.

So then Zuko was clenching his fists and shooting fire at the mountain wall, punching and kicking and punching and kicking, until there were scorch marks on the rock and he couldn’t feel or think anymore. One moment he was raging, and then next his legs gave out and he was lying on his stomach, right cheek pressed against the earth.

It was pathetic, but the smell of his boots wafting up to his nose made him want to cry again.

Zuko’s eyes caught the silver sticking out of his boot. He reached into it and pulled out the Earth Kingdom knife. He sat up on his elbows and traced his finger over the inscription.

_Never give up without a fight._

He should have stayed and fought with Uncle. Iroh never had a chance, especially in his condition. Zuko gave up on him.

Zuko took one last look at his Fire Prince regalia, at the Fire Nation insignia on his belt, and gave up on it too.

He dropped the armor and boots into a nearby river and watched them float away.

Three years of denial and one week of suffocating hope, and finally, Zuko knew that he would never see the Royal Palace ever again. Leaving and never coming back would be easy. Finding his way, not so much. The future was a daunting unknown, but at the very least, the next step was obvious.

Zuko needed money, food, and robes that didn’t scream re-banished Fire Prince.

He tucked Uncle into the back of his brain, and set to scrubbing his underclothes, eyes following the gray fog rising from the other side of the mountain.

He would keep moving.

* * *

Fire Fountain City wasn’t exactly the home of the rich, Saeko knew that. They had plenty of low-lives lurking in the alleyways. The fair wasn’t, well, _fair_. She had good reason to keep her girls off the street once the sun went down.

But Fire Fountain City was, at least, your average working class town.

So when she put up a Help Wanted sign outside her post office, she didn’t expect to have to deal with a barefoot teenager walking through her door, one of her messenger hawks perched on his shoulder.

He sat in the chair in front of her desk now, filling out the job application form she had been reluctant to give him. Hiko was still on his shoulder.

“Where’s your shoes?” Saeko asked.

The boy looked up at her. His eyes were a piercing gold. A terrible burn scar covered the left side of his face. The kid was dressed in the shirt and pants that the soldiers wore under their armor, but Saeko would bet all her silver that he was one of the con artists that littered the town. He’d gotten into a street fight for screwing someone over.

She hoped, for Rin’s sake, that he hadn’t gotten it as a soldier.

“I don’t have one,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“You gotta name, kid?”

“Do you need one?” the boy asked, sounding very much like he hoped she didn’t.

Saeko sighed. “I suppose _Kid_ will do.”

Hiko pecked at Kid’s burn scar, and Kid flinched. If looks could kill, the bird would have dropped dead right there.

“He likes you,” Saeko said.

“Well, I don’t like him,” Kid said, still glaring, although he was petting Hiko with his free hand. Maybe he didn’t notice he was doing it.

“Mhm,” Saeko hummed. She slapped a handful of copper pieces down in front of Kid. He stopped writing.

“You’re hired. You can feed and groom the hawks,” she said. “But first, buy yourself some shoes.”

* * *

Zuko bought himself shoes, a cheap pair of sandals, so he could afford a bag of fire flakes too.

(As a kid, Zuko begged his mother to let him eat fire flakes for breakfast. Now he wanted to slap his younger self.)

After his well-rounded breakfast of carnival food, Zuko returned to the post office for his new job.

It would only be for a few days, he reminded himself. Until he had enough money to keep moving. Until he had a plan.

He spent the afternoon cleaning up bird poop and regretting his existence. The stupid hawk— Hiko, his name was—moved from his shoulder to his head and refused to move until Saeko took pity on him and pried the bird off.

“He’s clingy,” she said, placing him back in the coup.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” Saeko asked, and it was probably a question because he still looked like a criminal, with his old scar and the new ones.

“I’ll see you then,” he responded.

And then he did. Because this was his life now.

* * *

A couple days into his new career as a bird nest, Zuko was invited to Saeko’s house for dinner.

She lived a few blocks away from the post-office in a little red-roofed house. It was small but cozy, and reminded Zuko of Song. Dinner was just him, Saeko, and her two daughters. Only one of them was at the table now, across from Zuko. It was the eldest daughter, Rin. She sat like a student, upright and with her hands folded in front of her, and watched him with something in between interest and suspicion.

Sweat prickling the back of his neck, Zuko turned to Saeko instead. She started asking him about himself, which made Zuko question his decision to come. It was a risk, too much of a risk for just a good meal (or good company).

Zuko was spared from his interrogation by the youngest daughter bursting out of the kitchen. She carried a platter of fried clams and ash banana bread.

“I know it’s an odd combination, but I couldn’t decide what to make,” she said, punctuating her statement with a nervous little laugh.  
Her name was Koemi. She looked around ten or eleven years old, and had a kinder face than her sister. Zuko took a clam from the platter and popped it in his mouth.

“It’s good,” Zuko said. “Really good.”

“Thanks.” Koemi beamed with pride, but there was also a twinkle of something else in her eyes. Mischief. He knew the look well. (He had to resist the sudden urge to run. With Azula, it had always been a warning sign.)

“Would you say it’s good enough for a royal?” Koemi asked.

Zuko nearly spit out the clams. How did they know? He hadn’t given his name or his address. Zuko was a heartbeat away from bolting towards the door when Saeko butt in.

“She’s got it in her head that she’s gonna be a royal chef,” Saeko said, shaking her head. “She’s got a crush on Princess Azula.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do,” Rin said, grinning.

All of a sudden, Zuko lost his appetite. Unfortunately, Koemi turned to him at the exact moment he was going to discreetly spit out a clam.

“Princess Azula is my hero. You see, our dad died in the Siege of Ba Sing Se. And we didn’t even win, so it was like—” Koemi glanced at Rin hesitantly. “It felt like it was for nothing.”

Zuko nodded, remembering his own screams of pain, Lu Ten’s broken promises, and flying away as Uncle fell from the sky.

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Rin said. She looked like she wanted to add on, but Saeko shot her a warning look and she clamped her jaw shut.

Koemi continued. “But then Princess Azula conquered Ba Sing Se, without us even having to fight, and I don’t know…By finishing the job dad left us to do, she sort of avenged him.”

Zuko wondered what Koemi would think if she knew Azula killed the Avatar. But then again Zuko had seen her do it, and he still followed her back home.

“I understand,” Zuko said. That seemed to be enough because Koemi smiled.

“I don’t,” Rin said. “It’s not enough for me.”

“Rin,” Saeko pleaded, and this sounded like a conversation they’d had before.

“The dirty earthbender who killed dad is probably still walking free, enjoying our Fire Nation prosperity now that Ba Sing Se is ours.” Rin spoke in a low snarl. “Princess Azula should have burned that city to the ground.”

She couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen, yet Rin held a life’s worth of hate in her eyes.

“Enough,” Saeko said. “We do not question the royal family in this household. Do you understand?”

Rin’s response was anything but genuine. “Yes, mother.”

After dinner when Rin showed him to the door, Zuko told her, “I understand.”

* * *

“Were you a soldier?” Saeko asked the next morning while Zuko was helping her bring in the mail. Her eyes flickered to his scar. Zuko pretended not to notice.

“No.”

Saeko sighed in relief, and then let out a sad laugh. “They lowered the enlistment age to fifteen last month. Rin asked me to let her join the Fire Navy as a birthday gift.”

“Say no.”

Saeko slapped a hand down on his shoulder. “You bet I will, kid.”

Zuko would never admit it, but he was starting to get attached to the name.

At that moment, a hawk flew into the coup. Zuko reached for the letter it carried and had to swallow back a gasp.

“Are you okay, kid?” Saeko asked. She wasn’t looking at him. She was handling another bird at the other side of the coup.

Zuko shoved the letter in his pocket. “Would it be alright if I take my break now?”

“Ten minutes,” she said.

Zuko walked out of the post office, as calmly as he could feign, and then turned into the alleyway. He slid down the brick wall. Hands shaking, he pulled the letter out of his pocket and tore open the Fire Lord’s seal. It was his wanted poster, exactly the same as the ones he’d seen in the Earth Kingdom, with a note tacked on.

_Charged with attempted murder of the Fire Lord, Prince Zuko is wanted dead or alive. Whoever brings this traitor to justice will be rewarded in gold._

Zuko read the note, and then read it again. There was no mention of Uncle, no clue as to whether he was dead or imprisoned or… could he have escaped? Zuko read the note again. Nothing.

He burned the poster and note until they were ash in his palm.

Zuko swallowed down the lump at the back of his throat and pushed away the thought. He couldn’t afford to wonder what happened, nonetheless to hope for… No. Uncle was gone. Either way, he was gone.

If Uncle got a death sentence for helping the Avatar, what would become of Zuko? He was charged with _attempted murder of the Fire Lord_. Azula would kill him on sight. Mai wouldn’t even have to sit through his execution.

Soon, his face would be all over the Fire Nation, and there would be nowhere he could go where the actions of Prince Zuko wouldn’t follow.

Prince Zuko, the traitor.

Prince Zuko, the Avatar-slayer.

Zuko knew now why he couldn’t ask the question before. There would be no after for Prince Zuko. He’d met his dead end.

No, Zuko needed to vanish so completely that no force, mortal or spirit, could ever drag him back to the pyre he’d built for himself.

He needed to forget his past, his title, even his name.

Just like a black-cloaked silhouette blending in with the night, only visible by the glimmer of the blade peeking out of her sleeve, Zuko would disappear for good.

He would become someone new.

And the thought of his mother gave him an idea how.

* * *

Zuko explored Fire Fountain City for the last time, keeping his head down in hopes of not running into an aggravated Saeko searching for her tardy employee. His eyes darted from the right to left sides of the street, scanning the store signs. Flower shops, food stands, clothing boutiques. None of them were what he was looking for.

Somewhere along the way, Hiko landed on Zuko’s shoulder. After the last few days, Zuko hardly blinked. If only Zuko could ask him for directions.

He passed by a Firebending school and spotted Rin among the students. They were practicing katas. Well, the other students practiced, marking the forms slowly but surely. Rin performed. There was an intent in the way she moved, as if this was a real fight. Maybe she was imagining that it was.

Zuko weaved through crowds of people gathered around scammers and walked through rows of houses. He found himself in the center of the city, standing before the fire fountain it was renamed for. It was a towering bronze statue of Firelord Ozai, spewing flames from his mouth and fists. To Zuko’s humiliation, the sight of it made him sweat.

“Scary, isn’t he?”

Zuko flinched. He turned his head to find Koemi standing next to him. She was dressed in her school uniform. She leaned closer to him, holding a hand up to her mouth. The way Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee used to do when they told each other secrets.

“When I was a kid,” she said. “I used to have nightmares about the statue coming to life and burning down the house.”

Zuko snorted, and Koemi looked embarrassed.

“I know, it’s stupid.”

“No… I used to have dreams like that too.” Zuko thought of his first month on the ship, waking every morning in a cold sweat and refusing to tell Uncle what was bothering him.

Koemi grinned at him. “When does your break end? Want to go to the fair?”

“Maybe another time,” Zuko said, and an idea popped into his head. “But do you know anywhere I could buy makeup?”

Koemi’s eyes lit up, sparkling with mischief. She grabbed Zuko’s hand. “Do I?”

And that’s how Zuko ended up at _Aina’s Beauty Parlor,_ getting dirty looks from the shopkeeper as he and Koemi strolled through the aisles. It was Koemi’s fault. She was drawing rainbows on her arms with the lip paints and getting colored dust all over her uniform. (Or it could have been Hiko’s fault. The stupid bird was still on his shoulder.)

“Need some help?” the shopkeeper asked through gritted teeth.

Zuko turned his face so the shopkeeper could see his left eye. “I’m looking for something that could hide my scar.”

“One moment.” The shopkeeper disappeared behind the counter.

Koemi tugged at Zuko’s hand. She had a serious expression on her face. “It’s not so bad, you know. Well it is bad, but…” She smiled softly. “It’s okay that it’s bad.”

Before Zuko could think of a response, the shopkeeper reappeared. She placed a little gold box of powder on the counter.

“This is the best stuff we’ve got. They use it in the theater, and you could swear the actors really are evil spirits or dragons or queens. It’s magic.”

Zuko nodded. “How much?”

Koemi ended up pitching in a few of the bronze pieces her mother gave her for lunch money so that Zuko could buy the makeup.

“My lunch hour is over anyway. You can pay me back after your next check,” She said, dusting the colored powder off her uniform as they walked out of the store. “I’ve got to go now.”

“Wait,” Zuko said. “Just in case, Princess Azula’s favorite dessert is hotcakes with sweet cream.”

Koemi blushed, muttered a thank you, and turned the other way.

For a moment, Zuko wondered if what he was doing was wrong. If wiping hands of title was a betrayal to his people, to the world. He owed more than lunch money to Koemi. And Rin. And Saeko.

But those were the debts of the crown prince, and as far as Zuko knew, the crown prince was gone for good.

* * *

Zuko didn’t feel anything when he touched his scar. Not anymore. The skin was numb and dead. And it was ugly.

It wasn’t something he’d ever stopped to think about before. But now that he was staring at his reflection in the river, about to conceal the worst day of his life with white powder and a face brush, that much was clear. The scar was hard to look at. The skin on his cheek and around his eye was wrinkled, raised in some places and sunken in others. It was a hideous mottled pink that shined when the sun hit his face.

Zuko was happy to see it go.

He remembered his mother’s own brush strokes as he painted his face. She would drag him backstage after Love Amongst the Dragons. While Ursa talked with her friends, he would try on the masks and crawl through the clothing racks. He hated the Ember Island Players but he loved going to see them with her.

_“I was in this show once too, you know,” She’d told him, as the house lights went down. The overture began with a long, low hum of a tsungi horn. Ursa was grinning, the way she only did when she was near a stage._

_“Who did you play?” Zuko asked._

_The sudden ring of a bell made him jump._

_Ursa leaned over and whispered in his ear like she was telling him a deep, dark secret. “The Blue Spirit.”_

When he finished, his left cheek felt sticky and heavy. But for the first time in three years, his face looked whole.

Zuko quickly looked away from the water and turned to Hiko. The hawk was sneaking up on a squirrel toad on the other side of the cliff. If Zuko slipped away quickly enough, Hiko would probably fly back to the post office on his own.

Or Zuko could send compensation in the mail. Saeko didn’t like Hiko, anyway.

Zuko walked to where the war balloon was hidden, making sure to step on a couple twigs and leaves along the way so that the stupid bird would get the message.

* * *

They were already flying in the clouds, hours into their journey, when Zuko realized he was missing bird food. It was ten minutes past Hiko’s meal time. The hawk was perched on the rail of the war balloon, glaring at him.

Zuko reached over to pet his feathers and Hiko bit his finger.

“Can’t you feed yourself?” Zuko grumbled, rubbing his pinkie.

Hiko tilted his head.

“Fine. I’ll feed you. Once we land.”

Hiko gave him a look that said, _When’s that gonna be?_

“I’m not sure.”

_Well, where are we going?_

“I don’t know.”

_What’s your plan?_

“I don’t have a plan.”

Zuko slid down the side of the tank. Okay, he should have figured this out before he got on the war balloon. But the this he needed to figure out was, well, everything. The rest of his life. His new identity.

It would be best to keep flying until he couldn’t. That way, he wouldn’t have to choose.

Hiko walked closer to him and pecked at his hand.

“Leave if you want! Go back to Saeko!” Zuko slapped his hands down on the metal floor, startling Hiko. The hawk squawked angrily before spreading his wings and flying out of the basket.

“Wait.” Zuko jumped to his feet. He walked around the perimeter of the basket, looking up and around and down below. Hiko was gone. Zuko called out, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Hiko reappeared, soaring beside the basket. He was swallowing something.

Zuko leaned on the edge of the rail. “You know what, Hiko? You choose.”

The bird turned his head towards Zuko.

“Come on, look inward,” Zuko said. He reached out his arm, and Hiko landed on it. “Who are you and what do you want?”

Silence. Well, the answer was obvious. Hiko was a messenger bird and he wanted lunch. Zuko would have to figure out the specifics for himself.

“You’d be cold in the poles,” Zuko said. “Which leaves the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Islands.”

He could run away to a little Earth Kingdom town like Lee’s or Song’s. No one would search for him there. But he remembered the hunger and the burn scars and the soldiers.

Zuko scratched Hiko’s tummy. “We would probably be safer in the Earth Kingdom, but the snacks are better here and I don’t want you to feel homesick.”

Hiko fluttered up onto Zuko’s head. The bird bent over and stared into his eyes. Are you still talking about me?

“I’m supposed to be asking the big questions here. And I am not,” Zuko swatted at him, “your bird nest.”

 _Who are you then?_ Hiko squawked, eyes piercing through his soul.

Zuko flinched. Is this how it feels to be prey?

He stopped his futile swatting, surrendering. “I was a prince and I wanted to capture the Avatar. I was a son and a brother and I wanted to go home.”

Zuko thought back to when he was six years old, when destiny meant nothing. “I was a kid and I wanted to play with my sister like we used to.”

He wanted Azula to be the Dragon Emperor and him to be the Blue Spirit, and for his mom to let them act out the final fight with her swords. She would play the Dragon Queen and pick Azula up in her arms, bridal style. They would all forget their lines and burst into laughter. One of the two people in the audience would clap, and the other one would lecture them on all the ways they messed up the sword moves. Azula would try to throw him out of their “theater” but Zuko would take his advice because he was cool and sword-fighting was fun.

“Hiko,” Zuko said. “I have a plan.”

* * *

All Zuko had to guide him to Shu Jing were blurred flashes of cliff sides and the tall mountains and waterfalls that framed them, little red-roofed houses, and people standing frozen in the streets as a royal carriage passed them by.

So it surprised him when the streets felt oddly familiar, the kind of familiar that tugs on someplace deep inside you, the kind of memory that lives in your muscles instead of your mind. It could have been muscle memory that caused Zuko’s shoulders to drop and the muscles in his face to relax from its resting scowl. Or maybe it was the constant sounds of water crashing down onto the riverbed below the cliffs, the smell of grass and dirt and flowers.

Shu Jing was a breath of fresh air after a rainstorm. It flowed like the breeze into Zuko’s nose, down his throat, and into his lungs. It cleansed his blood of the aftershocks of lightning, smoothed out the bubbles of rage.

Despite being a small town, Shu Jing was well known throughout the Fire Nation because of the paintings and poetry it inspired. Artists would come here to escape from the world, churn out the most impressive pieces of their careers, and then return to the cities to bask in their fame.

Not Piandao. He left his castle so little that most people believed he was a legend. Zuko knew better, of course.

Before Ozai was firelord, before his mother vanished, before Azula learned to burn—Zuko knew him. When Ozai traveled for diplomatic business, Ursa would bring Zuko and Azula to Piandao’s castle. On paper, Fire Lady Ursa was there to study arts and calligraphy while Zuko and Azula trained to wield swords. The truth was a very different story—one in which Ursa walked around with a katana strapped to her back and Zuko and Azula spent more of their time chasing each other through the halls of the castle with bamboo sticks than anything else.

Zuko reached the top of the cliff where the castle stood and stopped in front of the door. The snarling dragons holding the door knockers between their teeth seemed to laugh at Zuko as he flipped through the pages of Honor Returned in his head, his stomach turning as it dawned on him just how off script he was.

He did the mental equivalent of throwing the book out the window, and then knocked. A few agonizing moments later and then the door creaked open, revealing Fat behind it.

“Can I help you?” He looked annoyed. There was no recognition in his eyes.

Good. That was what Zuko was hoping for. It didn’t hurt at all, not one bit. Ahem,

“I’m here to train with the master,” Zuko said.

After a _yes, I’m aware the master turns almost all students away, and no, I don’t have anything to prove my worth,_ Fat led him through the gates. They left Hiko in the courtyard.

Zuko focused on the back of Fat’s head as they walked into the castle. He didn’t want to look at the curtains and the hallways and ended up thinking about Azula and their bamboo sticks. The last time Zuko had been here was when he was seven. Nine years. It felt more like a lifetime.

Fat opened a door, and gestured for Zuko to step inside. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then Zuko walked in.

He’d forgotten about the library. There were rows upon rows of shelves of books. At the end, there was a tall glass window. Beneath it was Zuko’s childhood hero in the flesh.

Piandao lounged on a couch, reading a book. His hair was grayer than Zuko remembered, and new wrinkles lined his eyes and forehead. He looked up when Zuko cleared his throat. His eyes were harder too. More callous. He watched Zuko with disinterest.

“Master Piandao, it’s an honor to be in your presence. I’ve heard extraordinary things about your skill with the sword.” He bowed, and held the pose for a few seconds before looking up. “I came here to learn from you.”

Piandao looked unimpressed. He turned back to his book and flipped a page. “Let me guess. You’ve come hundreds of miles from your little village where you’re the best swordsman in town and you think you deserve to learn from the master.”

“Actually, I wish to apprentice under you in the art of sword making.”

Piandao’s eyebrows shot up.

“Huh,” he said, and he sounded confused.

“Did I say something?”

“No,” Piandao quickly assured, eyes passing over Zuko. “I accept.”

Now it was Zuko’s turn to be surprised. He had to stop himself from smiling like an idiot.

“Your name?” Piandao asked.

Zuko opened his mouth to say _Lee_ , but the word stuck in his throat. Lee was an Earth Kingdom boy who worked in his uncle Mushi’s tea shop. Lee woke up to the smell of his uncle’s jook in the mornings and suffered through his long, drawn out games of Pai Sho at night. Lee had so much and he never saw any of it.

Zuko couldn’t bear the name again. A different name came to mind, one that encompassed every reason he had to burn his old one to ash and let the wind whisk it away for good.

Zuko met Piandao’s inquisitive gaze. “My name is Kuzon. I come from Fire Fountain City.”

“Well then, Kuzon,” Piandao said, a small smile forming on his face. “Why don’t you make yourself at home.”


End file.
